Rebirth
by sick-atxxheart
Summary: Voldemort's rebirth in Goblet of Fire, from his point of view. Please review!


Hey, all ;] Another oneshot here. This is for both the Twisted Challenge and 'several angsty challenges' on HPFC. It's kind of abstract, and it's from Voldemort's point of view during his rebirth in Goblet of Fire. Please review - - - I'd love some feedback!

_--_

_Harsh words and violent blows_

The thunder in his ears was almost too much, and he in his own agony refused to let the shattering scream pass from his lips. He wouldn't, he couldn't, because that would be weakness. Here, in this nothingness, in this shallow pot of drowning, weakness meant failure, and failure meant death. Death, anyway, from what little life he had left.

_hidden secrets nobody knows_

The memories came, fast and furious and unstoppable. _"Ooh, do you have a secret? Come on, boy. Tell us!" _Taunting. Tormenting. Pain. He told them no, he remembered. He always told them no- he was special, he was gifted. They didn't deserve to know. But still, it hurt. He remembered... he had always said no, but it was never good enough.

_eyes are open_

His eyes hurt, and he wondered why. For some reason he remembered they were an unusual color, or were going to become one- but he couldn't quite grasp it, and he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Here, drowning, dying, falling, what did eye color really matter? But for some reason, it did. He couldn't remember.

_hands are fisted_

In a strange moment, he saw something he vaguely remembered were called hands. They touched things, moved things. He touched his face gently with _fingers_, and was surprised to find soft flesh. Soft flesh... something he hadn't had in years.

_deep inside I'm warped and twisted. _

He was drowning, dying, freezing, flying, falling, failing, screaming, waiting, remembering. Everything he had ever felt- everything, anything, rushing in front of him and forcing themselves upon him- memories that forced to push him over the edge he thought he had crossed long ago.

_So many tricks and so many lies_

He remembered death, but for some reason he hated it. He had almost died. He had almost _died_. Why had he almost died? He didn't know, and didn't care. But it had almost happened, and that scared him. Funny, he didn't remember ever being scared. Why was he scared now? And why did it hurt so much...

_too many whens and too many whys_

Questions flew through his brain, and he could feel himself falling further. He had no answers. Nothing made sense. Why was he here? Why was he drowning, falling, pleading, when what seemed to be one moment ago he hadn't been?

_nobody's special_

All he had now was the fact that he was going to die, and that from the looks of things it would be slow, painful, and agonizing. He didn't know anything, but he remembered anything- and he wished he didn't, because he remembered pain. He wished he didn't.

_nobody's gifted_

A silent scream ripped from his dry, cracked lips, and he smirked inside when he realized that the scream had, in fact, been silent. Weakness would not do. He couldn't exactly remember why, or who he was trying to impress, but it was important. It meant his life. It meant everything.

_I'm just me_

He hated himself, and he couldn't quite understand why. He remembered screams, and he remembered the morbid enjoyment he had gotten from hearing the agony others were going through. He remembered it, and made no move to deny it. But now- when he was so close, so close, to breaking... when he had every opportunity to do so- why couldn't he? He couldn't. He couldn't break, and he couldn't scream, because it was who he was.

_warped and twisted._

His skin wasn't perfect, he decided. It was waxy, fake. In the dark nothingness of what he assumed to be water, his hands massaged his face, felt his nose, touched his ears and his mouth and his tongue. It all felt strange, fake. Nothing was real. Nothing was right. Everything was there, but it wasn't. He had no doubt that it would never be right again, and he didn't know why that was either.

_Sleeping awake and choking on a dream_

He was choking, coughing, hacking, crying, pleading with the unforgiving water, hands scaping and twisting and reaching for something, anything. He felt his fingers brush something that was solid, but it was too far away, and he couldn't get there. He fell further instead, and he couldn't care.

_listening loudly to a silent scream_

He could hear the ringing in his ears, and dully he wondered how long a person could survive without air, or oxygen, or even sunlight. But for some reason, he didn't really believe he was a person. _What are you then?_ His mind asked cruelly, and he ignored it.

_call my mind_

He could hear a low scream from someone far away, and with great effort as he fell further he clamped his thin hand over his open mouth. Had it been him who screamed? He didn't think so. His mind seemed to be playing tricks on him, going back and forth, up and down, until he wasn't quite sure what he was anymore, and he didn't know what to make of anything, anything.

_the numbers unlisted_

For some reason, he remembered a group of people that irrevocably followed him, and an involuntary shudder wracked through his body that he wasn't sure the cause of. He didn't particularly dislike them, and what thoughts came along with them, he knew... rather, he was confused, and he didn't know what it meant. They were powerful, he was sure of that, and he was their leader... but if he was their leader, why was he here, drowning, dying- and where were they?

_lost in someone so warped and twisted_

He plunged further, and in the darkness he could feel his futile attempts at escape. It really didn't matter, he decided. He would never escape. He would either die here, or jsut fall further and further until there really was no hope, not any at all. None. He was stuck, and he was dead, and he was lost, and he was crying, and he was pleading, and he was wishing and wanting and hurting and remembering and hating and...

_On my knees_

Darkness, and then light. Pain, and then dullness. What just happened? He thought to himself sleepily, as if in a trance. He was out of the water, and out of the pain. There was almost... nothing anymore, he thought, as he rocked back and forth. He still didn't care, as much as he tried.

_alive but dead_

When he realized he could open his eyes, he did so slowly, as if in a trance. What he saw surprised him- arms, legs, torso, hips... wrapped haphazardly in a deep black cloak. Had they been there before, he wondered. He didn't think so, but he couldn't quite remember.

_look at the invisible blood I've bled_

A body, he realized, was what he had gained. He had gained limbs, and a face, and senses again. He could... feel... again, and it was amazing, he realized. No longer was he lost in the darkness... now he was able to see in the darkness. Darkness... so comforting, he realized. Had he always felt that way?

_I'm not gone my mind has drifted_

When he gained the courage to look up, he couldn't help but look down again at once, afraid. A throng of people surrounded him, and they wree staring at him as if he were their last hope... Maybe I am, he realized. Maybe they're the ones that live to serve me, that serve me in order to live. He couldn't help but like that thought.

_don't expect much_

He could feel the power coursing through his body, and he stared at his arm for a good while before chancing looking up again. Everything was deathly quiet. He liked the feeling of power, of being in control. It felt good. After all, he had just almost died in the darkness, gotten lost in the nothingness, failed in the fear. _Almost_, but not entirely.

_I'm warped and twisted_

His mind presented him with the idea of magic, and he accepted it readily because it seemed familiar, right. It seemed normal. Maybe it wasn't, he realized. Maybe he was abnormal. After all, even with magic... why were his arms and legs so white, and why were his hands so long, thin, and colorless? Why was he not cold? Why was there no blood in his body? It wasn't like it mattered. He had magic, and he was alive. Wasn't that all that mattered?

_Burnt out, wasted, empty, and hollow_

He couldn't help but feel empty, even as he gently rose to his feet to meet those who were no doubt waiting for him. He had magic, and it filled him up better than anything else in his life ever had. But he didn't have muche lse, besides an empty body and a desire to kill, rule, and have more power than anyone else. He supposed that was something. He still couldn't bring himself to want anything else, or to even care much.

_today's just yesterday's tomorrow_

He supposed, as his new voice rang out over what he now knew to be an empty graveyard, that what he didn't ahve really didn't matter anymore. What more did he need than what he had in front of him? From nothing, a fragment of a soul, he had been given a body and a rekindling of his mind. From death he had been restored to life- a life, he supposed, was so blackened by darkness it couldn't really be considered to be alive...

_the sun died out_

He smiled menacingly as he looked at his new hand, and as someone, he didn't really care who, told him that his new red eyes were quite menacing. He surprised himself when he didn't punish that very person for insolence... But really, he hadn't known he would have red eyes, and that was a rather nice touch. Maybe he had chosen it. Maybe he had. He didn't care. The darkness was nice too, and he smiled once again as he looked around at the circle of people standing before him.

_the ashes sifted_

He turned around to look at the cauldron that was still boiling behind him, so full of dark magic it almost excited him to think about. This was how he had been reborn. This was what had given him a body back... this is what he had almost drowned in, died in. This is where his new life came from. This was it, and he couldn't bring himself to regret it, no matter how hard he tried.

_I'm still here_

His wand was placed in his hand, and he could feel the power wash through him like a wave, renewing him and making him whole again. Maybe not whole... but complete. Maybe not complete... but real, and reality was something he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be again. But he was there, maybe not alive, but existing.

_warped and twisted._

Tom Riddle had ceased existing, and Lord Voldemort had been reborn anew.

--

**_Please review._**


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